


Breaking Chains

by celedan



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley's Flat (Good Omens), First Time, Idiots in Love, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Series, Self-Conscious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Sex, Virgin Aziraphale (Good Omens), Virgin Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:42:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25443337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celedan/pseuds/celedan
Summary: The Apocalypse is postponed, and Aziraphale and Crowley are out of the woods with their respective employers. They're free. Therefore, all of a sudden, Aziraphale realises that he hasn't been a very good friend to Crowley, always denying their friendship because he was a good little angel. He so badly needs to change this. Right now.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 101





	Breaking Chains

**Author's Note:**

> I have developed a slight, unexpected obsession with Good Omens at the moment, reading lots and lots of fanfiction. But I never thought it would be a fandom in which I wanted to write stories as well instead of just reading them, but here we are. And since I'm stuck with a writer's block and I'm lacking motivation in writing my other ff in other fandoms, this change is possible exactly what I need at the moment.

Feeling Heavenly full and sated, Aziraphale returned to his bookshop in the early afternoon. He still tasted the delicious sweetness of the desserts he'd eaten at the Ritz, the flavour swirling around in his mouth as a pleasant, lingering aftertaste.

If someone would kiss him right now, that kiss would taste like strawberries and vanilla and chocolate...

He stopped dead in his tracks, and even slapped a hand in front of his mouth in annoyed horror.

What was he thinking! Where had these impure thoughts come from so unexpectedly?

Shaking his head viciously, Aziraphale brushed off this sudden madness as a fluke.

The soft click of the closing door behind him calmed him immediately. He was back home, in his sanctuary where he could calm down and feel safe again.

And most importantly, it was over.

It was all over.

When he'd returned here into his unmarred shop – restored from the fire by Adam –, he had been happy, blissful even, to have it all back (he was so glad that he hadn't actually seen the destruction to his treasure, but the look on Crowley's face when he'd told him, back on their bus ride from Tadfield to London, both of them relieved and completely exhausted so that even Crowley had been so vulnerable to let his cool facade slip for a few moments, had been enough to imagine the horrors). But then, he hadn't been able to relax completely. That nasty business with Heaven and Hell being pissed of at them had still been unsolved.

Now though...

Now he was free. Free to live his life here on Earth undisturbed, and enjoy the finer things in life like good food and books.

Automatically, he had to think back on his fantastic lunch with Crowley not an hour ago.

And suddenly, in the spur of a moment, he wished, when they had clinked glasses, that he had corrected Crowley's toast, answering, “To us” instead of his “To the world”.

But that was ridiculous, wasn't it?

Grumbling under his breath for his sudden, unexpectedly sentimental and disturbing thoughts, Aziraphale breathed in deeply, taking in the calming smell of old books and wood. Beneath that lay the soft smell of the odd herbs he had lying around here and there simply because he liked the scent, and... and then, there was a scent that lay underneath all that, suffusing itself through the whole shop, having become a part of it, all of it mixing together in the smell of “home”; it was a smell of fire and dark, rich soil, and plants if you could believe it...

Crowley.

Suddenly unsettled, Aziraphale slowly went through his shop as if in a daze, his trembling fingers reaching out to touch his books absentmindedly while he let his gaze wander around his sanctuary, wandering through the beams of daylight falling into the shop with swirling dust dancing merrily in the air. His gaze came to rest on the old sofa nestled into a crook between bookshelves, and before his mind's eye, he saw Crowley lounging there, his willowy limbs spread out as if he owned the space. He had sprawled there so often that, by now, it was  _his_ sofa, really. Aziraphale rather preferred the chair by his desk, and when Crowley perched on the armrest, he was right at eye level with Aziraphale)...

On said desk stood two used wine glasses from their last drinking... bout. Aziraphale really had no idea why Adam had restored the dirty glasses as well instead of ensuring a bit of order when he was already at the restoring business...

The angel came to stand at one of the pillars holding up the upper level of his shop. It was the one Crowley favoured for leaning against when he wasn't sprawled out on the sofa or prowling through the shop like a restless tiger, his deceptively strong, wiry arms waving about, wine glass in one hand, while he worked himself up over something. Like dolphins.

As if drawn to it, Aziraphale placed a hand on the smooth wood, and imagined it still warm from Crowley's body leaning against it...

His fingers moved on, flittering over stacks of books, unconsciously trailing the paths Crowley's elegant, slim fingers had taken when being restless, picking up books and magazines randomly even if he never opened them.

Crowley...

Aziraphale curled his wandering hand into a fist, and pressed his lips firmly together as he thought of the demon. His friend...

As if he had snacked of the Tree of Knowledge, giving him hitherto unkown awareness, a sudden sense of shame gripped the angel.

Crowley was his friend, of course, but he suddenly realised that it had always been Crowley, the supposedly heartless, evil demon, who had made an effort regarding their friendship. For an outsider, the impression arose as if Crowley cared more about their friendship than Aziraphale did, and showing it – even reluctantly –, too.

Hadn't it been Crowley, in all of their six thousand years together, who had shown him small, affectionate gestures over and over? Coming to Aziraphale's rescue in Paris 1793, watching out for him and then saving him from these Nazis. And even – Aziraphale had to admit that his heart had pounded like mad because of that, and still did when just thinking about it – saving his precious books. Making sure that Hamlet, that little, unsuccessful play that meant so much to Aziraphale, became a hit. Cleaning his beloved coat only days before with a nonchalant, almost bored gesture. So as if he didn't care in the slightest. But the demon did, didn't he?

And hadn't it been Crowley who had insisted that they go away together, save themselves from the impending Apocalypse? Twice even. Almost begging Aziraphale.

Speaking of “our side” then instead of “your side” and “my side”. “Our” meaning just the two of them together, their existence and obligations as an angel or demon be damned.

Crowley's devastated face when Aziraphale had manipulated him on the Airbase, threatening to never speak a word to him again, very well knowing that that would spur Crowley into thinking of something to safe them all.

And when Crowley had offered him shelter as they'd sat on that deserted bench in Tadfield in the middle of yesterday night... Aziraphale had wanted to say yes, so badly for a moment that it hurt his whole corporation, but... he'd been a coward once again, hadn't he. Once again, he'd hidden behind these deeply ingrained my-side-your-side believes.

And what had Aziraphale contributet to their friendship?

He'd always denied being Crowley's friend. Always hiding behind that old “You're a demon, I'm an angel” excuse. He'd always been so subservient to authorities, letting his believe and sense of duty dictate his actions ever since his creation. And, worse, during the last six thousand years, he had allowed it to make him deny being friends with the most wonderful, kind (never tell him that, though) being ever created.

It had been easier that way, hadn't it. Falling back on these excuses, it had been so easy to deny any feelings he had for Crowley, a demon! The decision to think and feel for himself had practically been taken out of his hands by his divine orders.

Aziraphale felt deeply ashamed of himself, the shame getting stronger with every passing second he reflected back on his actions. Because he always had, hadn't he? Had feelings for Crowley. From that first tentative conversation high up on the walls of Eden, he had liked being Crowley's friend. And... more...

It had always been  _more_ , hadn't it. He could probably admit to it now, even if only in the confines of his own head.

He took in a deep breath again, taking in Crowley's underlying scent that had made itself at home in the shop, still lingering in every nook and cranny even if the bookshop was brand new. And still, even that scent had been restored...

“ _I know what you smell like.”_ Of course his friend did.

Well, that at least was something Aziraphale hadn't been negligent about. He knew what Crowley smelled like as well...

“I love you.”

The words slipped out as if by accident. Aziraphale wasn't even aware of saying them, realised it only after he had said them. The sound of his own voice in his otherwise eerily quiet bookshop startled him violently.

The sudden thump of books toppling to the floor finally brought the angel out of his desperate musings. Stupidly, he stared down at the stack of books he had clumsily knocked to the ground while being struck with a revelation that would change everything.

As if lightning had struck him, Aziraphale only now really realised what being free meant. They weren't only free of Heaven and Hell. No... All of a sudden, he, the perfect little angel, had been freed from these chains of obligations that had been placed around his neck by his mission and by being who he was. And the same went for Crowley.

His breathing turning laboured as he was hit with that liberating realisation, Aziraphale's eyes frantically flitted through the book shop, so as if looking for something that wasn't there.

Balling his once more trembling hands into fists, he drew in a deep, deep breath, then spun around on the spot, and raced from the shop.

Nobody had ever gotten so fast from Soho to Mayfair like Aziraphale did, not least because some subtle miracles made sure that the cab he was sitting in, nervously wringing his hands the whole way, only encountered empty streets and green traffic lights.

Rushing up the steps to Crowley's incredibly modern flat, he slithered to a stop in front of the sleek door. The angel's lungs burned from the exertion, and he only granted himself a few seconds to put himself together again before he rang the bell impatiently.

A small eternity seemed to pass before the door opened, and his demon stood in front of him. Crowley's eyebrow's were raised high as he stared at his unexpected guest, completely baffled. Aziraphale couldn't blame him. They'd seen each other last barely a couple of hours ago, and his surprise visit could only mean trouble. At least, that's what Aziraphale would have thought if it had been Crowley turning up so unexpected, completely out of breath and with an urgent, wild look in his eyes.

He swallowed, trying to wet his suddenly bone-dry throat.

“We have to talk,” he pressed forth with difficulty. 

Crowley stared a moment at him, frozen to the spot, and Aziraphale imagined him blinking behind his dark sunglasses aditionally to his still highly raised eyebrows.

But eventually, Crowley took off the glasses, and he shrugged nonchalantly, turning around to saunter back down the hallway of his flat, simply expecting Aziraphale to follow him if the angel wanted something from him. Suddenly nervous again (okay, he had never stopped being nervous, it was just, until a few moments ago, he had been hurled forward by stubborn determination and elation about realising how he really felt – now, he just felt sick with worry about Crowley's reaction; maybe he'd misread his intentions... Oh please, God, no...), Aziraphale followed Crowley, barely remembering to close the door since he was highly distracted, his gaze firmly fixed onto Crowley's retreating form... his behind, to be precise... the sight of his swinging, narrow hips in those obscenely tight trousers suddenly doing unspeakable things to Aziraphale's... corporation, now that he had decided to notice such things.

He had to swallow heavily, his throat suddenly bone-dry again (or still), and he wished for some tea, or better, for some of the good vintages he or Crowley, too, hoarded in their respective abodes.

He followed the demon into his stylishly sparsely furnitured living room where they both stopped, simply standing at opposite ends of the room while taking each other in carefully and warily.

Crowley was nervous, Aziraphale could see that now so clearly as if Crowley'd a sign around his neck proclaiming his nervousness. He was frozen to the spot, hardly breathing if his barely moving chest was any indication. His posture stiff, his brows drawn together tensely, but the most telling were his eyes, now uncovered. Although the huge yellow serpent's eyes seemed expressionless, Aziraphale had learned how to read them, had learned, despite seeing them covered by dark glass more often than looking right into the naked eye over the centuries, how to interpret the subtle widening or twitching or narrowing.

And right now, Crowley was very nervous. The angel would even call him alarmed.

Aziraphale could only imagine what the poor dear was thinking. He probably thought Aziraphale was here to break with him once more, to tell him that, now that they had reached their goal of stopping the end of the world, they could both go their separate ways.

To his immense shame, Aziraphale realised that assumption may not come completely out of the blue, the way he had treated their friendship up until now. That realisation hurt, but it motivated him all the more again to say what he had come to say.

“It's nothing bad,” he started, trying to appease the nervous demon. 

Crowley breathed a tiny sigh of relief. “Oh,” he answered impassively. “Good. The way you turned up here, I thought Up and Below had changed their minds about us.”

“No, no, nothing of the kind,” Aziraphale assured hastily. He gave Crowley a small smile to calm him down. 

But it didn't seem to work all that well because his friend looked unsure and nervous all over again.

“Well...” Aziraphale cursed himself. He should have used the ride here to think of something to say. Anything! But all of a sudden, the only thing he could do was making unsure noises like a whining puppy and half-aborted words, his hands flapping around, flustered. Finally, he fell back on wringing them, and he started pacing the spacious room while he desperately thought about what he could possibly say to Crowley. 

Crowley, in the meantime, was still frozen, as motionless as a lurking snake, but so tense that the air around him almost vibrated with nervous energy as he watched Aziraphale's agitated pacing attentively, patiently. And, to be frank, the angel was amazed that the normally so impatient demon showed that much restraint at all.

This seemed proof of his anxiety und uncertainty all the more right now.

“I'm sorry!” Aziraphale finally burst out with way too much force, but glad that he had managed to say _something_ coherent. He stopped pacing, and stared at Crowley expectantly, so as if the demon was supposed to immediately get what Aziraphale was trying to tell him.

He didn't.

Crowley frowned at him, his forehead wrinkling in confusion. “Whatever for, angel?”

“Well... for... for my failings,” Aziraphale stammered, flustered once again, and he hated that he was so easily thrown off the rails, leaving him a stammering, blushing fool (but, to be fair to himself, it wasn't every day that he decided to confess his feelings for his best friend).

Only that Crowley never had seemed to take offence with his shortcomings, never mocking him (well, he mocked – teased – him for plenty of things, but never that, he suddenly realised, nor did he mock him – like Gabriel –, not seriously with the intention to hurt, for his love of food, or taunted him about his slightly pudgy figure), so he supposed it was alright if even a demon was okay with it.

“Ehm... I mean...” He brushed his fingers through his hair, making it all the more untidy than it normally was already. Swallowing heavily, Aziraphale braced himself. “Failings concerning our friendship.”

Crossing his arms in front of his chest – the first sign of impatience –, Crowley frowned again. “You never did anything wrong, angel. Whatever gave you that idea?”

“I may have neglected to show my appreciation for you, whereas you were always so kind to me.”

Although he probably didn't want to, Crowley blushed faintly. “That's rubbish. You never failed to do that, and I wasn't  _kind_ to you.”

They stared at each other for a few long moments in a silent battle of wills. Aziraphale saw in Crowley's strained expression that he didn't believe in his own words, which caused the angel even more grief. It was one thing to act shabby, but another when his friend was aware of this all this time.

“I was afraid,” he therefore admitted quickly. “To admitt to being friends. M-my need for clinging to my Heavenly orders... all just because I was afraid of the truth.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh that sounded as if he was choking on his own breath. “It took me only six thousand years to realise it.”

Crowley still watched him like a hawk, but his eyes flitted nervously over Aziraphale's face, searching for something. “And what caused this sudden epiphany?” The demon's voice sounded slightly mocking which told Aziraphale how wrong-footed he was.

Awkwardly, he shrugged. “I don't really know,” he had to admit. “I-it just... happened. Well, I was in my shop, when I came back from our lunch. And everything there reminded me of you. And... and, I suddenly realised how horrible I was, and then I realised what my heart had known long before my head. I mean, why else would I have clung to you like that for six thousand years? Constantly running into each other is an excuse that only my self from an hour ago believed. But not me. Not any more, you know. Now, I  _see_ .” He stared into Crowley's eyes beseechingly. “Now, I can see it all.”

“Dear God Almighty and Satan, I have no idea what you're talking about there, angel!” Crowley burst out, throwing his arms into the air in exasperation. It seemed that his patience had finally run out.

Frustrated, Aziraphale huffed, and opened his mouth to say more, explain more. But then, he realised that his bumbling explanations wouldn't lead to anything. So, in a completely uncharacteristically spontaneous reaction, he rushed forward determinedly, grasped the front of Crowley's shirt with both hands, and yanked him into a kiss.

Both of their eyes remained open, staring at each other in shock, and their breathing stilled completely for a couple of moments – well, they didn't really need it anyway, didn't they.

Eventually though, Aziraphale started to feel kinda awkward. Especially since Crowley remained completely motionless. Which, maybe, wasn't that surprising. Being ambushed by your best friend tended to leave you shocked.

Icy fear that he may have indeed read all the signs wrong, that Crowley didn't feel more than friendship for him after all, rose inside the angel, and caused him to pull back.

Gulping in huge breaths into his protesting lungs, he stared at Crowley, appalled. “Crowley... I'm... Oh, please, my dear, please forgi...”

He didn't get another word out because Crowley chose that second to wake up from his stupor. His hands rising to cup Aziraphale's face in them, he bridged the distance between them to press his lips back onto Aziraphale's.

The first shock started to dissipate rapidly, making way for a whole kaleidoscope of other feelings. First of all a very unexpected feeling of... well, he assumed it was arousal, not unlike the rapture he felt when tasting an excellently prepared dish, only stronger. And happiness (he recognised that at least). Aziraphale couldn't help but moan softly against Crowley's lips, the feeling that coursed through him was so, so good.

Finally, Crowley let go of him, and, breathing labourously, the angel and the demon stared at each other in wonder.

“I love you,” Crowley blurted out suddenly. “Always have.”

Aziraphale felt tears of bliss welling up in his eyes. He nodded. “Yes,” he whispered with difficulty. “Me too.”

Crowley chuckled teasingly although he, too, sounded a little overwhelmed and as if he was choking on his emotions. “So, that's what all that nervous stammering has been about.”

Aziraphale blushed sheepishly and shrugged. “I had an epiphany, I told you.”

Crowley stepped up close to him again, pressing oh so tight against Aziraphale. They were so close that they breathed the same air. “Are there any more epiphanies you may have had that you wanna tell me about?”

Stupidly, Aziraphale stared into Crowley's warm-yellow serpent eyes. His throat was once more bone-dry. “Yes,” he finally answered, and, frankly, he didn't know where this boldness or this courage came from. “Make me yours. Make love to me.”

Crowley didn't even protest calling it that. He simply nodded, unable to speak, and, for good measure, took Aziraphale's mouth in another kiss. This one turned out a little more forceful and dirty which had both of them moaning into each other's mouths.

As if on their own accord, Aziraphale's arms came up to wrap around Crowley's slim frame, anchouring himself like that. His heart hammered like mad in his chest; he was sure Crowley could hear it. Tentatively, he opened his mouth to allow the demon's tongue entrance. A shudder went through both of them when their tongues touched for the first time.

Oh, Crowley was quite good at this, whereas Aziraphale felt like a bumbling idiot.

He'd never taken a lover, and as far as he knew, Crowley hadn't either – at least, he had never told Aziraphale about it. Thank God. The thought of someone else being with Crowley like that, experiencing this bliss with him, would have torn his heart apart and would have made him sick with jealousy. And, stupid and stubborn as he had been just until an hour ago, he wouldn't even have known why it hurt so much.

Therefore, he was all the more anxious about why Crowley was such a good kisser. Maybe he was simply a natural...

“You taste like strawberries,” Crowley whispered against Aziraphale's lips when they finally parted, his warm breath puffing against Aziraphale's face, and, for good emphasis, he touched the tip of his tongue to Aziraphale's bottom lip for another taste. It had the angel shivering pleasantly.

“The dessert I had at the Ritz...” Aziraphale answered breathlessly, and he involuntarily blushed when he thought back on the unbidden thought that had arose earlier when he'd come back to the shop, thoughts of kisses tasting like strawberries and vanilla and chocolate... 

“I love strawberries.”

Crowley smirked at him, though at the same time, there lay incredible gentleness and paradoxically a hint of smugness in that expression. “That's why I invented them for you.”

Aziraphale's eyes widened when he heard that admission, but he never doubted the claim for even one second. “Oh Crowley,” he breathed, moved beyond all measure. “Just for me?”

The demon shrugged nonchalantly. “To tempt people, but especially to tempt you, angel.”

A soft noise like a whimper of happiness got stuck in Aziraphale's throat, and instead of getting all teary-eyed now, he surged forward confidently to pull Crowley into another passionate kiss that narrowed his complete world down to just what their lips and tongues and teeth were doing to each other.

He only realised that they were moving on legs seemingly with a mind of their own when Crowley pulled away from him, leaving the angel slightly dazed, and he found that they were standing in Crowley's bedroom now.

Quickly, he let his gaze wander around the sparsely and modernly decorated room, the slate-grey, matt tiles on floor and walls, the latter which were lined with inled niches housing plants on three walls of the room, breaking the sinister grey in two like an emerald band, a very hedonistic bed, and a window right over said bed on the remaining wall looking out over nighttime London. But he quickly dismissed any interest he could muster up for this room (except for the bed which supported his current purposes beatifully) he had never seen before in favour of the being standing before him.

Gulping, he watched as Crowley started to strip purposefully. With each layer of clothing being dropped to the floor, bare skin was revealed, more than Aziraphale had ever seen of his friend.

Eventually reminding himself to keep up with Crowley, Aziraphale forced his numb fingers into action so that he could – with way more insecurity than Crowley – pull off his many layers of clothing, fussing for a moment when he didn't know where to put them, so that he eventually simply miracled them folded into a neat pile in the corner (no matter how much he desired Crowley, there was no need to start being neglective of his beloved coat for that now).

Finally – and Aziraphale didn't know how they had quite managed it –, they stood facing each other, completely naked. And for the first time in all of six-thousand years, they were taking each other in. Just them as the second they had been created, no barriers between them.

Just for the record, their  corporations had been handed out by their respective superiors anatomically correct and fully functional – even if they didn't necessarily have to use all the bodily functions at their disposal. And most of the time, they indeed chose not to do that. It was just too inconvenient with most of them.

Now, Aziraphale thought he would weep, and almost fell to his knees to thank God for that, because he couldn't get enough of the sight before him (having sex would have really become an impairment when both of them had been sexless which – he was sure of it – angels like Gabriel and Michael thought human bodies should be). His  breath hitched when he let his hungry gaze roam over Crowley's body. The demon stood before him, proud and without any shame of his nakedness. Some would maybe call him skinny, all sharp edges angles and wiry limbs, with a smattering of dark hair on his narrow chest, but to Aziraphale, he was the most divine vision.

Memories of what it had been like being in the demon's skin a couple of hours before arose in his mind, unbidden...

He hadn't looked or anything, he quickly reassured himself in his own head, God beware! But... he had been really, really tempted to take that one step further and sneak a peek under Crowley's black underwear. He hadn't, but oh, he had been so, so tempted (although, at that point, he hadn't even really known  _ why _ he wanted to do such a thing; morbid curiosity maybe?), and this had once more prooved that the demon standing in front of him right now, completely naked, was a dangerous temptation for the angel. But... oh, how he loved it.

Faced with that delectable temptation, Aziraphale couldn't help but painfully become aware of his own slightly overweighed body. At the time around the Fall, he had been a relatively fit warrior, even if he had never liked fighting at all. But ever since that, and especially since he lived on Earth, his level of fitness had detoriated. The kinds of foods humanity created were simply too delicious to stay away from although he didn't really need to eat. And he felt comfortable in his own skin, he really did, always had. It fitted his character so much better than a heavily muscled, sleek body. 

But standing in front of Crowley now completely naked, he started to feel nervous. 

Crowley knew all that, about his love for food, and how he detested any kind of workout, that he was maybe a bit too pudgy, but a protective layer of clothing had always hidden all these small imperfections. Now though... Being subjected to the demon's eerily intense gaze, Aziraphale began to squirm self-consciously. He desperately wanted to cover up his much too soft middle and plump thighs with his hands, even let his wings materialise into this sphere of existence so he could wrap his soft body inside their protective strength.

“Stop it!”

Crowley's almost angry exclamation startled the angel violently, and he met Crowley's gaze dead-on. The golden eyes were narrowed fiercely, and the demon advanced on him with determined steps until he had bridged the short distance between them. He stopped only shortly before Aziraphale, and they were so close now that he could feel Crowley's body heat against his own naked skin.

“W-what?” he croaked, his throat once again bone-dry.

“You're perfect as you are,” Crowley insisted much to Aziraphale's shocked astonishment.

“How...”

“It's written all over your face, and the way you're squirming around.” Crowley's gaze became a little softer, and he smiled gently at Aziraphale. 

“You know me well, don't you,” he whispered, realising how futile it was denying how much it bothered him.

A smug glint appeared in Crowley's eyes. “Of course I do, angel.”

And with that, Crowley bend down to kiss Aziraphale heart-wrenchingly gentle.

Sighing softly, the angel violently pushed back any self-conciousness he had for now, and wrapped his arms around Crowley's neck. They both moaned into the kiss loudly when their naked bodies came into contact with each other for the first time.

He was drowning in that kiss. The smell, the taste, the feel of Crowley. The  _ gentleness _ . It was that what was his undoing more than anything.

Willingly, Aziraphale let Crowley urge him backwards until the demon could gently lower him onto the bed.

The silken sheets, a dark teal that complimented Crowley's fiercely red hair perfectly so that Aziraphale couldn't wait to see Crowley sprawled out on them, felt sinfully good and slick against Aziraphale's back. And for a moment, he didn't know if he should wriggle around on the pleasantly smooth material caressing his rear side or arch up into the sinful, hot body covering his front.

Ignoring his dilemma for now, Aziraphale instinctively spread his thighs for Crowley to slip between them instead, and he blushed involuntarily at the suggestive position.

With a gasp, they parted from the kiss, and stared at one another intensely for the longest time, mesmerised by the close proximity. Then, Aziraphale held his breath when he saw the hint of an uncharacteristic gentle blush on Crowley's cheeks. 

Was he... was his demon  _ shy _ ?! Could it be that Aziraphale wasn't the only one being nervous about what they were about to do? His heart started beating faster at the thought because he was so glad that he wasn't the only one being afraid. Not fear of the act itself, mind you, of any possible pain – that would only concern their corporations, which could be healed in the blink of an eye –, no, rather fear about what this monumental, life-changing step would mean for them, for their friendship.

And Aziraphale was afraid to do something wrong along the way. He didn't want to disappoint Crowley or estrange him because of any inexperience on Aziraphale's part.

“Have you done this before?” Aziraphale asked timidly, and to his immense relief, laying his earlier fears at rest, the demon gently shook his head. Crowley looked down on to Aziraphale with intense, yellow eyes. “It's only ever been you,” he whispered, a treacherous catch to his voice that sounded incredibly broken, so as if admitting this out loud finally had the power to shatter him.

Blinking away the sudden tears of happiness and relief, Aziraphale surged up to kiss Crowley again and again.

“Then why're you such a good kisser?” Aziraphale panted into Crowley's mouth, drinking in the demon's panting breaths.

That caused his demon to laugh in carefree amusement, and Aziraphale couldn't help but soak up that laugh into his very divine essence.

“Just watched humans very well, angel,” Crowley snickered, and bend down to nibble, and lick, and bite a hungry yet gentle trail of kisses along Aziraphale's jaw until he reached his right ear. The angel moaned when Crowley took the lobe between his teeth. 

“You... you never told,“ Aziraphale stammered while his fingers dug deeply into Crowley's shoulders to anchor himself. 

Another chuckle. “Some temptations...” Crowley's voice rumbled into his ear, “well, I never bothered to tell you about them, my angel, for fear of offending your delicate senses.”

“My senses aren't as delicate as you may think,” Aziraphale pouted which was made null and void by the loud moan that was ripped from him at Crowley's ministrations.

Pulling back so he could look at Aziraphale, the demon had the nerve to smirk at him, so Aziraphale was left no choice but to wipe that smug expression off his face with yet another kiss just as Crowley teased him playfully, “Books don't c...”

It was a highly satisfying method to shut his demon up, Aziraphale found.

At the same time, eager, hungry hands started wandering over soft skin, wanting to learn every single inch of the other's body just like their lips were mapping out their mouths. Lean hips started circling and rubbing against the angel's soft loins who couldn't help but snap his own hips up to crash them into Crowley's. Heat exploded in his neither regions, and tingled through his whole body.

This felt so good. Had he ever imagined this could feel so good?

No, never. The erotic books he sometimes read in secret had never said, couldn't describe it how it really was. But even if he had ever felt like that, even if the books could have given an adequate description of this ecstasy so that Aziraphale would have been tempted, he could never have done this with any other being than his demon.

When suddenly though, Crowley's sharp, slim fingers sank into the soft flesh of his sides, Aziraphale started to squirm for a completely different reason. Beside Crowley's reassurance, he couldn't stop the deeply ingrated self-consciousness from rearing its ugly head once again. He pulled back from the kiss, gasping, and his hands flew to Crowley's wrists.

The demon propped himself up on his elbows left and right from Aziraphale's head so he could look the angel in the eye, and Aziraphale had never felt so naked, so exposed to Crowley's seemingly all-knowing gaze than he did now.

Firmly, slowly, Crowley freed his hands from Aziraphale's fearfully tight grip, and placed his hands flat onto the soft planes of Aziraphale's body. He started massaging the flesh, causing Aziraphale's breathing to speed up again.

“You're perfect as you are, angel,” the demon whispered again fiercely.

“I-I know it's silly, but...” He had to look away. “Saturday morning, when I met Gabriel, he said...”

“To Hell with that fuckwit!” Crowley burst out in disgust. Shifting around until Crowley could cup Aziraphale's face with both hands, he hissed, “He lacks _everything_ you have, angel. But now we're free, so I have the rest of eternity to proof that to you. Every blasted day if I have to.”

And with that, he took Aziraphale's lips, slightly parted with pleasant shock, in a passionate kiss, and resumed the thorough exploration of the angel's body with his hands.

Forcing away the tears, Aziraphale returned the kiss fiercely before he summoned up all his courage, and placed his own hands onto Crowley's own body, allowing himself to get to know him as well.

Crowley was so different from him, and he realised that, where some would call Aziraphale too plump, others would call Crowley skinny. It was just that Crowley dealt better with it, his swaggering, self-confident personality not made for such insecurities. And he finally realised that, where Aziraphale found Crowley beautiful beyond all measure, Crowley in turn really seemed to regard Aziraphale the same. It was hard to believe, but Crowley's kisses, his caresses, his words all helped to slowly drive that truth home.

And all of a sudden, the last of his worries were as if blown away, and Aziraphale felt completely free. As if new life breezed through his veins, Aziraphale once more wrapped his arms around Crowley, and surged up against the demon covering him so securely.

“Crowley,” he whispered against Crowley's lips. “Please...”

“Please what, angel. Tell me. I'll do anything.”

“I need you... you know...”

Aziraphale had expected a smug smirk from Crowley, but to his surprise, Crowley just stared at him wide-eyed, awed. Finally, the demon nodded, swallowing heavily.

Mutely, he leaned in for the umpteenth kiss that night, more chaste and pure than all the other kisses they had shared so far. It took just a mere thought for Crowley's fingers to become covered in cool, slick lube, and then, he gently started opening Aziraphale up, making the angel moan and beg the more Crowley twisted and scissored his fingers and pushed them deeper and deeper.

“Oh, my dear, please,” Aziraphale begged, arching up into Crowley's touch as he gently undulated his hips.

“You'll be the death of me, angel,” Crowley growled, and finally pulled his fingers free. 

They looked each other deep in the eye, their eyes impossibly wide as Crowley sank into his angel for the first time.

Trembling over his whole body, Aziraphale cried out, soft thighs wrapping tightly around Crowley's lean waist, when the demon thrust into him for the first time. They threaded their fingers together to hold tight to each other as Crowley claimed his angel.

Sensations he had never thought possible rushed through Aziraphale's body, the ecstasy climbing higher and higher, and he tried to reach for it. At a particularly well-aimed thrust that had him seeing stars, Aziraphale froze before he cried out loudly, his body trembling and seizing violently. Crowley crushed his lips against Aziraphale's all of a sudden when he, too, froze, and a shocking wet warmth filled Aziraphale that seemed to light up his whole body. Bringing up shaking arms, he wrapped them around Crowley to catch the exhausted demon in a tight embrace.

Lying there in complete exhaustion, their bodies heaving for breath and being slick with sweat and other... fluids, a sudden calm descended over Aziraphale. A numbness, really, because he was still in some kind of awed shock. Judging by the way how impossibly still Crowley was in his arms, he imagined his demon was as overwhelmed as Aziraphale.

Propping himself on his arms suddenly, Crowley looked down at Aziraphale in wonder, his thin lips slightly parted as he tried to take in enough breath. The shifting position pressed their hips closer together once more, and Aziraphale felt Crowley slide deeper inside of him again. He didn't hold in the small moan that escaped him.

“I love you,” Crowley whispered while they still held each other's gaze.

Aziraphale smiled lovingly at Crowley, and cupped his right cheek with one hand. “I love you, too, my dear. Come here.”

With gentle pressure, he pulled Crowley down into a painfully loving, almost cautious kiss.

Wrapping his arms back around Aziraphale, Crowley rolled them both around onto their sides. His spend member slipped out of Aziraphale's body, making him wince slightly, but ultimately, physical pain was nothing to them, really. Shuffling around, they came to rest side by side with Aziraphale pressing close to Crowley so he could pillow his head on the bony chest. He was still slightly breathless, and he felt like molten butter, as if not even one bone had been left in his body. Smiling contentedly, and enjoying the pleasant, soothing feelings that coursed through him, Aziraphale brought up his hand to draw lazy circles onto Crowley's chest, around his nipple and through the dark smattering of hair. He enjoyed the small jerks Crowley's spend body made when Aziraphale rubbed his fingertip over a sensitive nipple.

He still couldn't believe what had happened just now, and deep in his mind, his restless thoughts were already a step further ahead, were already imagining the things they could do next to each other.

A soft, contented noise from Crowley that almost sounded like a serpent's hiss had Aziraphale thinking very sudden, indicent thoughts...

“My dear?” he eventually asked, hoping to sound completely harmless and innocent. 

“Hm?”

“Can you – hypothetically speaking, of course – still turn yourself into a serpent?”

Above him, Crowley stilled for a moment, he didn't even breathe for a second.

Then, the demon shifted around somewhat, until he could look at Aziraphale's face, both eyebrows arched impossibly high in puzzlement, Aziraphale noted as he took a quick peek up at his lover's astonished face.

Aziraphale started to blush under the intense scrutiny, and he looked back down at what his finger was doing on Crowley's chest.

Crowley frowned some more. “Are you suggesting what I think you are suggesting, angel?”

“Hm? Oh, I'm asking out of curiosity, nothing more. Just forget it, my dear.”

He could almost feel Crowley's wicked grin turned onto him, even if he didn't dare meet the demon's eyes again.

Aziraphale flinched violently, when Crowley suddenly shiftet around, and soft lips caressed the shell of his ear as Crowley leaned down to him, hot breath fanning over the side of his face and hair, gently ruffling it.

“I can turn into the biggest, most beautiful, and most dangerous serpent that has ever walked... well, crawled the Earth, angel,” Crowley rasped seductively. “I would be able to wrap myself around your whole beautiful body. Or I could taste you all over with my tongue flickering over your skin, even your wings. Oh, the feathers would feel so good caressing my scaled skin.”

An involuntary moan was wrenched from Aziraphale's throat which was enforced by the obscene little moan Crowley gave for good emphasis at the prospect.

He then practically tasted Crowley's smug grin in the air. “Hypothetically speaking...”

“I've never been a fan of hypotheses,” Aziraphale wrinkled his nose, and he wasn't even ashamed about the blatant lie; he was the epitome of preferring hypothetical over practical, and they both knew that very well, of course. Everyone did.

“So, aren't you,” Crowley chuckled. “Me neither. So, maybe we should...”

“Yes!” Aziraphale burst out enthusiastically, interrupting Crowley mid-sentence. “We definitely should.”

Another chuckle could be heard from the demon. “I have created a nymphomaniac monster.”

“I only ever act for your benefit and well being, my dear,” the angel assured with an earnest, innocent expression that had Crowley snickering.

“Of course you do, angel,” he grinned before he pulled Aziraphale up so he could reach his lips for a kiss. 

“Okay, let's have serpent sex.”

Aziraphale beamed happily.

**End**

**Author's Note:**

> After watching the show again, I couldn't help but notice a few things, namely the points I list at the beginning which Azirapahle realises; that you could get the impression that Crowley cares more about them than Azirapahle does. These impressions while watching were a good point to start from writing this story.  
> The blatantly implied sequel is already in the making^^.


End file.
